Imagination

The first year of Mateo's life I was pretty religious about reading children's development books so I could get a sense of how he was progressing compared to the traditional milestones timeline.  Most of the time I found all the information to be helpful and informative, especially because despite having babysat my way through high school and college, I had no clue about the specifics of baby babies.

As he's gotten older, however, I have definitely turned my reading attention elsewhere. (Thanks again for all those US Weekly's, Danielle!)  Not because I'm not interested in my kid, but mostly because I've decided that I'm not concerned about the pace of his development.  To be honest, I have no idea if he's advanced, average or behind the curve when it comes to most things.  What I can tell you, however, is that I find him delightful.

One of the reasons I bring this up is that recently I have been so excited to see Mateo starting to use his imagination.  Whether it's using his rake as a guitar, a pot as a hat, or putting my bag over his shoulder and pretending to leave ("byeeeee!"), he's showing sparks of imagination and a sense of humor.  I love it.

Oh, and air guitar.  We can't forget the air guitar.

Middle Age: Fa la la la laaaa

First, let me say thank you to my prescient sister who bought me a wireless router for my birthday.  It's something I've been wanting / meaning to buy for um, about 5 years.  (I'm hoping this increases my blogging frequency.)  It has made me forgive her for informing me that 35 is considered the apex of life.  Next, let me say thank you to my father for informing me that I am now officially middle aged.  Awesome.

Quite honestly though, I'm very happy to be the age I am.  I have so many amazing things to be grateful for, not just a few of which have come along later in life.  Obviously that list includes Geno and Mateo, but the big one I'm thinking of right now is the gumption to cast off my parents' tradition of not putting up a Christmas tree until right before Christmas itself.  I'm totally down with Advent, (which is the reason they like to wait), but I also just love having the tree up with the twinkly lights shining and the stockings hung by the windows (no mantle) with care.  It's funny, because it took me almost 15 years to realize that I could put the tree up whenever I wanted; so the day after Thanksgiving it is.

Despite loving Christmas trees, I happen to have a freakish allergy to real ones, so we have a scrawny artificial version that is sparsly decorated due to the toddler's love of shiny objects.  It's very Charlie Brown, but me and all of my 35 years love it.

Happy Holidays!

Rave On!

It was only a matter of time before our current necessary use of flashlights led to a toddler rave party.  Can you hear the base pumping?

This, That & The Other (or Urban Camping)

Hello pals, it's been awhile!  Despite big events such as Geno turning the big 4-0, Mateo turning the big 2-0 months and the big 0-1 anniversary of this little blogging adventure, I've done a poor job of documentation lately.  I think it can be blamed on a trifecta of hurdles, including a spike in work craziness, a head cold, and oh yeah, NO HEAT OR POWER.

Typically the part of Connecticut that we call home has pretty moderate, manageable weather, but the past few months have been really weather-weird.  First we had an earthquake, then it was Hurricane Irene and then this past weekend we had a freak nor'easter, aka the Storm that Stole Halloween. 

Thankfully we were in Vermont celebrating Geno's birthday (a complete surprise to him; so fun!) when the storm hit and we were able to extend our trip for a day, so as to delay the power-less situation.  (An apt pun if ever there were one.)  When we got back, however, it was shocking to see the devastation.  It literally looks as if a tree bomb was detonated in our neighborhood.  And in fact, a transformer on our street blew up on Sunday night.  Thankfully our house was spared structural damage, but my car's roof was majorally dented by tree branches which also broke the sun roof, and, it if weren't enough, it's blocked in our driveway by a down, live power wire.  Still.

Okay, so now I will stop complaining, because the good news is that my lovely in-laws have taken us in and by the grace of God and a generous friend were loaned a generator.  It's a cozy arrangement for sure, with heavy use of the camping stove and the grill, but we have heat, light and Nyquil.  And for all those things, I am grateful.

An Instructional Guide to Squirrel Yoga

This weekend we were graced by the celebrity appearance of Uncle Go Go and Auntie Stop.  (For those of you who know them, are these not the most fitting nicknames, like ever?!)

When he's not saving the world from corporate greed and consumer fraud, Uncle Go Go likes to invent new yoga poses and teach them to family and friends.  Once you see the genius that is to follow, I think you will all join me in saying namaste, Uncle Go Go, namaste.

And with that introduction, I give you Squirrel Yoga:

Chicken Pose

Owl Pose, Part 1

Owl Pose, Part 2

Owl Pose, Part 3

Uncle Go Go on a Pedestal Pose

Monkey in a Tree Pose

Downward Facing Giraffe Pose, Part 1

Downward Facing Giraffe Pose, Part 2

Flying Uncle Go Go

and finally... Squirrel! Pose

H - E - Double Hockey Sticks

My personal version of hell involves being trapped in an over-crowded, fluorescent lit, perfume and make-up section of a department store while being spritzed against my will to overly amplified techno beats.  A dialed down version of that involves being stressed while driving and not being able to turn off the radio.  So, in other words, sensory overload, with the worst offender being sound.

Cue the toddler screeching.  Cue the mother needing massive amounts of vino.

They Might Be Giants

I reached the height of my glory in 5th grade.  Our English class was putting on a production of a short play set in colonial times, and the two main characters were a printer named Patrick and his wife, Anna.  The role of Patrick had already been cast, and was set to be played brilliantly by my classmate, Lee.  The role of Anna, the wife, was up for grabs.  Our teacher, Mr. Bell, (a man whose name I still curse,) told me that he wanted to pick me to play Anna, but unfortunately I was taller than Lee, and since wives are not supposed to be taller than their husbands, I was ineligible to play the role.  That was the first -and the last -time being extraordinarily tall would be a problem for me. 

(By the way, I totally protested Mr. Bell's sexist bullshit and pointed out that by that logic my friend TJ, who was of Korean descent, should also be banned from the play based on historical demographics.  Sorry Teej.)

But back to my main point:  I am not a tall person.  I'm not super short, either, but I've basically been 5'3" for 25 years, give or take.  Similarly, Geno is the dude version of me: not tall, not short, just average.

Which is what makes our son's apparent giant-ness fascinating.  Our "little" 18 month old towers over kids up to one year his senior, and everytime a stranger asks me how old he is, their response is something along the lines of, "No way!  He's huge!"  Technically I know that there are other 18 month old kids taller than him, because he's only in the 80th percentile for height (60th for weight), but I'm beginning to think they don't live in Connecticut.

Perhaps its time for a trip to the heartland to hang out with some children of the corn...  I know they at least grow tall 5th grade girls.